Page 37 of Escape into the Night

Still surprisingly docile, he allowed himself to be pushed backward, Hank’s palm landing on the center of his chest to hold him against the wall. The man’s eye roll was almost enough to have Connor seeing red.

“Dieu, so strong.” The man snickered and pressed his palm to the back of Hank’s hand where it remained on his chest.

It happened so fast, Connor almost believed he’d imagined it all. For just a microsecond, he genuinely thought his paranoid imagination concocted the entire thing as some sort of hallucination. Hank swung his firing hand, pistol whipping the other man’s jaw with a sharp, audible sound. In response, the stranger’s hands flew fast enough to become a blur, connecting with Hank’s body once, twice, three times. Hank crumpled like a lifeless doll, his limbs folding like they’d liquified. Connor barely had time to react as the man engaged the safety, cleared the clip from the gun, and tossed it in his direction before setting the now useless firearm on the entertainment stand. He tilted his head side to side, his vertebrae clunking and snapping, before he perched his hands on his hips with a sigh.

“He gone be fine.” As if to confirm the man’s words, Hank groaned and rolled to his side with a muffled cuss. “Look, mes amis. We cut the bullshit. Someone's been using her tools. The tools she built to trace people? They been hijacked. And guess who they are using them to find?”

Theo dropped back onto the couch with a weighted sigh. His gun landed on the coffee table with a hollow, metallic clunk. “Me.”

“Wi. Yes. You, Tazmania, the silver fox, his hubs, all of you.” With a small huff and an even smaller shrug, he continued. “And me. Terry, too.”

Connor cussed under his breath. “So the people framing Theo are using her shit to do it?”

“Wh-who are you?” Theo’s voice wavered, taking on a breathy quality that meant an asthma attack was imminent, if not already in progress. Connor moved on impulse to stand closer, some of the tightness in his chest dissipating as he finally laid a hand on Theo’s bony shoulder.

“Beau. Beauden St. Pierre. CIA Black Ops, least I was. Till they cut me loose and put a hit on me.” Beau tipped his head toward Connor with a sad smile. “Same guys who almost got you shot and covered up Fields’ disappearance and called it death. Same guys who sent Tristan Williams into the wind and pretended he were gone be tried for his crimes. Same guys coming for you all now.”

Connor’s grip tightened on Theo’s shoulder. “Reckon you gotta be shittin' me.”

“Frère, I wish.” He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a handful of photographs before tossing them willy nilly onto the cluttered coffee table. “They got something on all of you. Gone be real easy to make every. Single. One. Disappear.”

Connor’s gaze swept over the pictures as the claws of icy dread tightened around his heart. Abriella with a gun trained on Tristan in the middle of the street the night he was presumably arrested. Connor in tactical gear outside Luke Fields’ home. Elias and Tristan laughing together on a shitty old couch in a basement, beers in hand. Theo handing Elias a folder on the doorstep of his home. Taz and Theo together on the front porchof their home, heads huddled together as if caught in the middle of sharing some dark secret.

“They been building a case against you all since you uncovered the operatives in the Secret Service.” His words were quieter now. Somber. Chilling.

Another groan captured Connor's attention as Hank shifted to shield his face from Charlie’s eager kisses. With another huff, he pushed himself into a seated position, muttering dour curses under his breath. He lashed out, kicking Beau’s ankle with a scowl that was met with a snickering laugh.

“You gone be fine, mon frère.” He held out a hand and helped Hank regain his footing.

“Fuck you.” Hank stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders before shaking out his arms and legs. Still muttering, he shuffled away and collapsed into a recliner with another grunt.

Theo shifted again to retrieve his inhaler from the front pocket of his sweatshirt. After administering the medication, he sank backward with a defeated sigh. “So that's it? We just wait around to get fucked by the government? Again?”

“Non, mon ange. We make a plan.”

“Right. Because we can take down the CIA. No big deal.” Connor shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Bingo.”

Hank snorted a laugh from his recliner. “You're fucking nuts.”

“Wi, I am. I'm also eager to stay alive. Pretty sure we got the same goal.”

“This is ridiculous,” Theo mumbled, letting his face drop into his palms.

“Tomorrow. Six o’clock. Elias and Caleb’s house.” Beau backpedaled, pausing to collect his weapons from where Connor had set them on the table beside the front door. “It's time to fight fire with fire.”

With whisper-quiet footfalls, Beau escaped through the door and shut it firmly behind him, plunging them into an ominous silence that pressed down on Connor as if his chest were a failing submarine trapped in the deepest depths of the ocean. Fighting fire with fire sounded like a shit plan that would leave them all burned—or worse—but the alternative? He glanced down at Theo and felt desperate resolve trying to fortify his heart. The alternative wasn't acceptable.

Chapter Twenty-One

Caleb

Thebasementwasn'taplace they frequented often, despite the fact that Elias had the space fully finished and furnished, much like the rest of the house. Caleb swept his gaze over the motley crew and ran through a mental checklist of host duties. It was the absolute strangest dinner party ever, but he prided himself on being a master event planner and that extended to… whatever this was. Dark wood and millennial grey were the predominant colors in the palette, with a few colorful splashes courtesy of Caleb himself. The salmon throw pillows brought a little life to the hyper-masculine atmosphere, and the pale pink throw blankets matched Parker’s art perfectly. The grey sectional was large enough to sleep three comfortably. Plush armchairs matched the upholstery of the sectional, and along the walls were bookshelves chock full of Elias’ massive collection. A wet bar, something they never used but diligently dusted, was stocked full of the best of the best in spite of the fact that they weren't big drinkers, and when they did drink, it was usually whiskey or wine.

The bar currently held a variety of outsourced finger foods and a cheese board because, duh, every gathering demanded a cheese board. Taz, forever predictable, huddled over the plate of spanakopita like it was the last meal he'd ever have. Luke stood vigil beside the stool Taz perched on. Bella and Lily were glued together on one end of the sectional, with Connor and Theo in mirror on the opposite side. Theo looked a little bit like death warmed over and Cay knew without even asking that his husband was gutted to see him in such a state, but the air between them was unfortunately still rife with tension. Elias and Caleb stood somewhat awkwardly in the center of the room waiting for the bombshells their guests of honor were about to deliver. The aforementioned guests had made one of the overstuffed armchairs their stage—the man apparently named Beau reclined in the chair with the air of a man who didn't have a care in the world. His “friend” stood stern beside him, tense but trying to appear otherwise as he stood in parade rest with a pissed off expression. Beau had introduced him as Terry, but the stone-faced man’s eye twitched in a way that told Caleb Terry was the last thing he wanted to be called.

Beau stretched and sprawled like a cat in the sunshine before sitting upright in the chair. “Right, let’s get into it then.”

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